


First Impressions

by flynnXrathbone



Series: Brosca's Merry Band of Misfits [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Brosca POV, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-12 02:49:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3340781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flynnXrathbone/pseuds/flynnXrathbone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 1 of an ongoing story. Brosca is unimpressed by her new companion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Impressions

She hadn't considered him much at first. The chiseled jaw, tufts of strawberry blond hair, well-muscled shoulders—nice to look at, if you like that sort of thing. But Brosca had her doubts about the rest. She'd seen her share of handsome warriors in Orzammar, all of them full of charm and swagger and wit until they'd deigned to notice her. Alistair had been polite so far, but probably thought she was trash, too. His attitude towards Morrigan hadn't helped. Brosca herself wasn't sure about the caustic mage, but Alistair's reflexive antagonism got on her nerves. 

"Stones help you, boy, if you ever ask ME to be your cook," she growled. Morrigan laughed merrily at the dwarf's curses. "Tis a sentiment I dearly approve. Perchance this journey shan't be as dull as I assumed." The young warden's face flushed. Was that—shame? regret? "Just a bad joke," he muttered. "Didn't mean to offend you." "Take care, then," Brosca retorted. "I'm no one's servant, and neither is she." 

They continued towards Lothering in uncomfortable silence.

*************

Brosca shook herself awake, sweating and trembling. Such a vivid dream... She inched closer to the smoldering campfire. 

"Couldn't sleep?" His face, glowing faintly beyond the embers, regarded her sympathetically. "I had awful nightmares after my Joining," he continued. "I've learned to suppress them by now. Our connection to the darkspawn means we hear when they call to the horde. It... can be terrifying, especially the first time it happens." She sat silent for a moment. "Thank you, Alistair." She paused before adding, "This has all been a lot to take in. I'm glad to have you here." "Err... you're welcome." 

The cinders crackled for what seemed an age before he spoke again, this time with a mischievous smile. "You know, being a Grey Warden isn't ALL demons and despair. I braid a mean daisy crown. I'll teach you if you'd like." "Go to back to sleep, Alistair." 

*************

They were almost at Redcliffe before she noticed his discomfort. Was he working up to a formal apology? Brosca dreaded the thought. Or perhaps Morrigan flustered him more than he let on. She was remarkably beautiful. And she'd been needling him constantly since breakfast (which he'd made, voluntarily, without a word of complaint. It had been tasteless mush, of course, but Brosca had eaten worse). 

"Alistair, your palms are sweating. Spit it out." "What? Yes, of course..." He swallowed nervously. "I've been. Um. Hiding something from you. It's really not a big deal and I don't like to talk about it and it doesn't make a difference anyw—" "Today, please? The darkspawn aren't going to slay themselves, you know."

She was not prepared for what he had to say. To think he was actual royalty (albeit illegitimate) boggled her mind. She wanted to be angry, but the misery on his face made her reconsider. Clearly this life had brought him little of joy or privilege. And the loneliness, the sense of abandonment, the futile rage he described were all emotions Brosca knew intimately. 

"I think I understand," she managed, finally. Alistair sighed in relief. "Great. Let's just pretend this discussion never happened." "As you wish... _my prince_." He groaned. "You're never going to let me forget this, are you."

*************

They'd gotten along well after that. Brosca had fought alongside companions before, joked with them, shared food and ale, but the experience had never been this pleasant. Leske would always ruin Brosca's appetite by staring lasciviously at her sister Rica and making crude propositions. And she'd never trusted Beraht, who didn't care if she lived or died and frequently reminded her how easily he could find another duster to take her place.

Alistair, though, always ready with a quip and a wicked grin—Brosca couldn't remember ever laughing as she did when they were together. For the first time since leaving Orzammar, and more importantly Rica, she felt at peace.

*************

Rica. It had nearly killed Brosca to abandon her, still in thrall to the carta. But Rica had insisted that she go. Argued that her new lover would protect her. Told Brosca that the upworlders needed her more than these would-be Paragons who'd always looked down their Stone-cut noses at the girls from Dust Town. 

"What about YOU, Rica? I don't give a nug's ass about the casted OR the topsiders. YOU'RE the only person I've ever cared for." "Listen, little sister. If this Blight is half as serious as that man Duncan says, I need you to go. For my sake. For Mother's." "Stones take Mother." "Hush, girl. She has her flaws, it's true. But I know you don't wish her dead." Brosca stared resentfully at her boots, not replying. "You know that the darkspawn get topside from the Deep Roads. And none of these Stone-blessed, ancestor-worshipping sods will lose sleep over dusters dying. They'll protect the Commons, to be sure. And the Diamond District. The rest of us won't be so lucky." 

"Penny for your thoughts?" Alistair's voice startled Brosca out of her reveries. "Nevermind, then... I've just... got a favor to ask." "Name it." "I know it will be a while yet, but when we get to Denerim, I'd like to look for someone." "Friend of yours?" "Not exactly. My sister. Half-sister. Goldanna. We've never actually met, and I... want to make sure I take the chance. In case..." "In case Morrigan finally smothers you in your sleep?" she teased. "In case your Fereldan stews poison us all?" "Very funny," he responded drily. "Will you help me or not?" "I'll do my best," she promised.


End file.
